The Year of The Rat
I wouldn’t suggest reading this one while eating; it’s maybe one of the most disgusting stories I’ve ever written. I’ve wanted to do something scary with rodents for a long time, but couldn’t quite figure out the logistics. Scary doesn’t need logic. For this week’s post I changed the theme to make things just that much more spooky, I hope you enjoy the read. Thank you for keeping up with my scary stories all October long, Next week, we’ll be back to the sweet innocence of Alive and All Over!
Content Warning: This story contains depictions of grief, death, animal death, body horror, gore, transformation, psychological decay, and self-destruction.
Reader discretion is advised. Full trigger list can be found at bottom of post.
February 22, 1984
Coming home from mother’s funeral, I spotted a dead rat on the side of the road. Frozen over from the season’s grievings, much like me. Mother is what kept me calm, controlled, without her I am left to my own reasonings, only mothers teachings to guide me. But without her strict hand how will I know whats right. The rat was looking through me, able to sense our mutual isolation. I stopped on the side of the road and picked him up, he was frozen solid. For the first time since she had gotten sick I was able to smile. That must mean something. Mother would have never let me do something as exciting as this. I feel happy upon seeing this dead rat. The possibilities. What I can see and discover. In life, mother would always stop me from my yearnings, but she isn’t here to stop me anymore. Maybe mother’s control is what stopped me from reaching my true potential. Maybe it is time. Of course I brought the rat home. Tomorrow begin to discover.
February 23, 1984
Yesterday, I brought the rat down to my basement to melt, somewhere where the dog couldn’t reach it. It smells putrid, but it made me long for whats inside. Tonight I grabbed my sharpest knife and cut the rat open. The sound of my knife tearing open the flesh brought comfort to my nerves. Wet substances from the body sprayed out onto my table and onto my arms as I peeled the skin peeled back, revealing decaying organs, and maggots. The maggots crawled out and onto my hands as the smell filled the room, bacteria and broken down flesh, I’ve never smelled anything quite as wonderful as it. I ran my finger along each organ, letting them squish between my wet fingers. Feeling what life may have been inside the rat. It was cold and inviting. The rat was large. I could almost fit my entire hand inside, and I did. To feel every bone, every biological structure breakdown at the clench of my fist. Why would mother ever keep me from such a thing. The squelching sound of the moisture flowing from my new friend. Nothing could compare to this. I sat there, squeezing for so long I lost track of time. The rat and I were one, feeling each part of it on every inch of my hands. I felt tingles down my spine, such excitement preserved only for those that can reach this level of oneness. I did this until I couldn’t anymore, until each bone was broken and the body became mush. You could barely tell before, the difference from the heart to the stomach, but now it was all mush.
March 4, 1984
Work took a hold of me this week. No escape. My rat sits in my basement, the smell the only thing tiding me over. My head pangs with excitement when I think of that lovely smell. I decided a few days ago that I would leave the garbage out and set out traps outside. I haven’t caught any yet. It needs to happen soon I can’t take it much longer. If it goes on like this I may have get my own.
March 30, 1984
A slight cough has persisted over the past month along with my headaches. Something is in my throat and wants to come out. In other news, a single rat. A single rat fell into my trap this month. It came at the right time, the smells were beginning to become the simplicity of nostalgia, not the once bold flavors I prided it for. When I went to the basement to read repeat my process for this one I was excited. I had been studying up on the anatomy. This one was fresh. Each organ more defined than before, no pesky maggots to ruin my fun. I get to be the one to start the decay. I thought it would be fitting to start the process in the same spot as before but as I arrived in the basement I realized my first rat had claimed his space. Tufts of fur melted into the flesh, warping the table. What was once wood was now a collage of the moments me and the rat shared. I began the ritual again. This time on fresh flesh. With a slow precision I tore the rats body from the trap. The head snapped off with a quick crack. Rigor hadn’t set in yet, and with such a fresh body I decided I could go slow this time. I ran my fingers along its soft ears and pulled slowly, and slower then quick until each ear was torn from her head. This one was a girl. I began my slicing open her stomach, blood seeped out of her and onto my hands. How red it was as it flowed over and stained my hands. When I peeled back her skin and stapled it to the table I was met with a sinister surprise. Small bodies adorned her insides, 1, 2, 3, 12 young rats, dead at my hands. I was disgusted with myself. In a fit of rage I ripped the family from the table and threw them across the room. I can’t go on like this.
April 27, 1984
For the past month I’ve fine tuned my methods. I’ve set up a space so that I can keep my own rats. I have a cage full of young males. I’ve also created a space for when I can’t smell that smell anymore. A box full of rat traps, glue traps, snap traps, poison. I let them loose in there, and then I handle my business. I’m happy to have honed in my method before I became house ridden. They won’t let me back into work. They say my clothes stink and i’m a nuisance to the work place. It doesn’t matter. This is all I care about right now. But it’s not like I can work anyway. A strong pain has persevere through all of the pain medicine I have left in my house. I can’t leave. It gets worse when I try to leave. The cough is worse as well it’s as if I’m choking on something constantly. The only thing that aids me is the process. I must get back to it.
May 18, 1984
Hair has began growing in places I didn’t know hair was supposed to grow. A pain in my back has also taken a hold of my life. The cough persists, worse everyday. My stomach unbearable. It hurts to write now all I can do is the process.
June 23, 1984
I want to write and tell you of the pains I have. The changes to my body. I can only crawl, eye level to the dog. I sleep in the basement now. I can’t go upstairs. Each part of my body writhes in pain each second I’m away from my table. The fur has covered my entire body. Between each word I write I cough up a bit of blood. What was once inside of me is coming up through my throat. I think I know what’s happening but I can’t say yet for sure. I must get back to it. The only medicine, my hand enveloped by the warm insides of my rats.
June 25, 1984
I coughed up an organ. Appendix. Rats don’t have appendix
July 18, 1984
Symptoms worse. Fully hairy, fully crawling, not able to reach the table. The process has moved to the floor. My poor rats. Only pain.
September 19, 1984
Whiskers. Hands smaller. Can’t write much longer.
I can’t write anymore only my thoughts can carry the legacy of my torments now it is November or January it’s cold I’m unable to turn the pages of my calendar I’m not sure of the day I wonder what has become of my dog the first few months of this change I did my best as it got worse I left all the food out and left the toilet seat open I hope he can fend for himself my hands are only good for the process but the hunger has escaped me I have survived down here off of drippings from the pipes for food though I have discovered a different kind of hunger for months I have picked at the leftovers from my process I have no more pain I know what I am now I understand what I have become I’m going upstairs to see the dog each of my four little paws grazing the steps as I climb I nudge the door open with my nose I am met with a growl the dog chases after me through the kitchen I wish I could calm him “It’s me shadow! It’s me!” I yell to my dog only for it to come out as squeaks I run towards the door and onto the street I look back to see Shadow chasing me I run into the street and slam into a semi truck. I am the first rat.
Like most writers, all of my stories have a certain je ne sais quoi that makes it an Alyssa original. I am a huge fan of stories with tragic endings, explicit gore and details, connections to nature and animals, and ones that leave you feeling maybe a little uncomfortable. At least I know after I read any of my stories I have to watch an episode of Abbott Elementary to make myself feel better! I hope you have enjoyed all of the spooky stories this October and I hope you have a fantastically spooky Halloween! As always thank you for reading and Stay Alive, Be All Over, and Don’t Be A Rat!
Full Trigger List
- Death of a parent
- Animal death and dissection
- Graphic descriptions of decay and decomposition
- Blood and bodily fluids
- Obsessive and compulsive behavior
- Psychological instability / madness
- Self-harm and physical transformation
- Parasitic imagery and infestation (maggots)
- Implied self-destruction and death